A Different Rasputin to the One All Has Seen
by harumi-kichi
Summary: This is a biography of Rasputin, written as himself. His life story here is real based on the information gathered from his actual autobiography. It doesn't have anything to do with the Fox movie.


**I wrote this biography based on the information I gathered from the book, **_**Rasputin**_** by R.J. Minney, written about the life of Grigori Rasputin. I also used the book **_**Rasputin: The man behind the Myth**_** by Maria Rasputin and Patte Barham, a personal memoir of Rasputin. I decided to write this biography with Rasputin narrating it, after he had died. I guess you may say it is a ghost reminiscing on his past.**

**I Am Man, and Therefore I Have Sinned: Through the Ghostly Eyes Grigori Efimovich Rasputin.**

By harumi_kichi

Was my purpose in life fulfilled? I lived such a short life, died by the hands of vicious, evil men. From the day I was born I had so many hardships, and now as I look back, what have I done to deserve such treatment? Have I not done what God has been telling me to do? I pray for the sick, for the unfortunate, give my time to them. For those filled with jealous thoughts and feelings of me, they should know first hand what devastations I have faced in my life.

The terrors of my life began at the age of sixteen. One day, my older brother Mikhail and I went swimming in the river. We both had jumped into the river and were swimming against the current, but it was unusually strong that day. I held onto a rock that protruded out of the river and searched for Mikhail. He was ahead of me, swimming with all his might to reach the edge of the river. He could not reach it, no matter how hard he swam. I un-leached myself from the rock and swam as fast as I could to reach him, but fortunately one of the villages was passing by and had managed to take hold of Mikhail and bring him to safety. We took Mikhail home and I was overjoyed that he was safe, but my elation did not last for Mikhail died later that night. From what I did not know, but the doctors who had examined him said that it was probably due to his lungs being inflamed. From the day of his death I blamed my self for not being able to save him. If only I swam a little faster, had let go of the rock earlier, I could have reached my brother in time and saved him from putting such strain on his body that would cause him death. I could not eat properly for the next couple of months after his death. I would nibble on some food here and there, but I was always consumed with guilt and grief over my dead beloved brother. I knew I was causing hardships and worry for my family, but I could not suppress this pain that I was feeling.

My mother died. Anna Egorovna was a woman dedicated to her family, always keeping the house organized, clean and running. She died after being struck with a brief illness, and there was nothing I could do to save her. If only I had gained the gift of healing from God a bit sooner, would I have been able to save my precious mother. My older sister Vara took over mothers chores to the best of her ability, but she could not fulfill mother's role in our house. One day, while washing clothes at the river bank, Vara had a seizure and her body fell into the river. She was an epileptic and had these seizures occasionally. We could not find her body. It was swept away by the rough current of the Tura River. Yet again the river has taken away another precious family member and I was not able to save another life.

My family was disappearing around me, and now it was just my father and I. I needed to find solace for all this grief I have been stricken with over my lost family and so I headed to Abalak where a monastery was stationed. Reaching my destination I found myself in the middle of a religious celebration and it was here that I found her, the golden beauty that captured my heart. Proskovia Doubrovina was twenty-three years of age, while I was four years younger. Despite our age difference I could not help but be attracted to her tall and slim body, those clear blue eyes and that flawless, ivory skin of hers. We dated for a couple of weeks, and then I married her. I brought her back to my home in Pokrovskoe and my father was immediately overjoyed, thinking that my being married would help settle me down. Novyk, my pet name for my beloved wife, was accepted in the village, everyone loved her for she was sweet-natured and gentle, yet hard working at the same time. She was able to keep the house clean and organized just like my mother had. The greatest joy Novyk brought me was the birth of my first born son, Dimitri.

Dimitri, oh my precious son. When I held the little lad in my arms I was overwhelmed with his beauty. I kissed my Novyk lovingly and praised her for giving me such a beautiful son. I never put my son down for a moment. I carried him around the house, singing songs and reveling in the miracle of the little boy in my arms. I proudly walked around town with him in my arms, showing all my friends my son. I could not be more content. Life was finally stable again.

Little Mitia died six months later. I did not know what had happened. My little boy had just…died. I wept for my son; my grief consumed me for weeks, no one was able to comfort my distress for I refused everyone, even my wife. I prayed on my knees everyday searching for the answer as to why my only child was taken away from me. I could not eat for weeks. Who can eat when they have just lost their child, one made from their own flesh and blood? I could only question God's actions to constantly bring me such grief over the loss of my family. I went to the monastery in Verkhoture, again seeking solace. My friend Makari helped me pray to God. He made me realize that I had to understand and accept God's actions, not question him if I was to be devoted to him. I went back to my family and continued on with life.

For the next couple of months I found myself going on a pilgrimage to Mount Athos, a request sent to me from the Holy Virgin Mary. The day I saw her, up there in the sky as I was working the land, is still so clear to me today. This pilgrimage took me away from my wife and father. I knew it distressed my wife, but this was what I had to do to seek solace ad to seek out Gods answer to my suffering. Before long two and a half years had passed and I was able to return home to my wife and father. I knocked on the door and my wife answered. She had not changed one bit since I saw her last, well, she may have gotten more beautiful though. As she stared at me with her big blue eyes I knew I was not recognizable to her. In fact, her first words to me were, "Come in, come in. I will bring you some food and tea and will prepare a bed for you for the night if you should care to stay." I could not help but laugh at the silliness of this situation. Of course she would not be able to recognize me. My face had aged about 10 years from my traveling in the sun. I had a thick bushy beard that covered half my face and my clothes were ragged, torn and dirty. My hair grew long, strands reaching below my shoulders. It was not until I said that I hope I was welcome in my own home did Novyk recognize me. She grabbed my face tenderly, running her hands all over my cheeks, tears of joy streaming down her face. She suddenly let go of my face and turned around just as I was about to kiss her. "Wait," she said excitedly and ran out of the room. As I put my bag of belongings on to the side table and turned to close the door I thought I heard a child's laughter. Turning around I could not believe my eyes. There, in Novyk's arms was little Dimitri, his little arms circled around her neck, his cherub face brightening as he saw me. I stood there in the door way, frozen, disbelief written across my face. God had given me back my little Dimitri.

Of course, this child was not my original Dimitri. As it turns out, a couple of weeks after I left for my long pilgrimage to Mount Athos had Novyk realized she was yet again with child. I regret now having gone on this pilgrimage and missing the first two years of my sons life, but maybe I was blessed with my new son for having gone on this pilgrimage. All I know is that I would settle down now, at least for a little while. I wanted my son to get to know his father and I wanted to bask in the fortune of having such a cheerful and healthy boy. In the next couple of years I was blessed again with my second child Matriona, or as I call her my sweet little Maria, and two years after my lovely wife gave birth to another girl, Varvara. Each birth was a blessing and I loved each and every one of my children. They were good and bright, a fathers treasure. Bless my wife for being strong and giving birth to such healthy and beautiful children. Every night I would read to them from the bible. Maria and Vara would sit on my lap as Mitia would lie on his stomach and stare up at me from his position. I did not press them to remember the Scriptures, but wanted them to hear the stories that fascinated me and consumed much of my life.

I was content with my life, praying for the sick and helping out the needy. I had people within my village visit me everyday for prayer sessions and I had strangers travel long distances just to come seek some guidance from me. Did I feel like I was being used? No, because my purpose in life was to serve the people. God intended for me to serve the people, whatever the circumstances and outcome may be. It was God's will. When the Tzaritsa of Russia called upon me, it was to help her sickly son, the only male heir to the Russian throne. He was a hemophiliac and there was no cure for such a disease. I simply prayed for the boy, made the sign of the cross above him, and laid his fate in God's hands. Of course, the boy survived each time I attended to him. This brought about tremendous devotion to me from the Emperor and Empress of Russia. They believed I had the power to heal, when really I just did what was asked of God.

The hatred towards me built to the point where there were many attempts on my life. One was from a woman who had plunged a knife into my stomach, leaving me with great physical pain and my intestines hanging out of my body. The second attempt was simple where some men tried to run me over with a sled. I was left unharmed much to their dismay. The third attempt was from my daughter's fiancé. He really had no intention of marrying her but used it as an excuse to get close to me. He failed to shoot me and shot himself in the stomach instead. My heart truly hurts for my daughter when she found out about his scheme for she did love this man. I sometime curse myself for having such a reputation, for it does not only affect me but my family as well. The fourth attack was another attempt to shoot me. The woman failed to even retrieve her gun to shoot me. Where there more attempts? Yes, but I grow weary recounting them all. Let me tell you how I finally died.

After many struggles, I was murdered. How was I killed? I drowned. Ironic is it not? My beloved brother and sister drowned in the river, and fate had it where I would end my life there as well. I did not drown in normal circumstances however. Certain influential political leaders invited me to have tea with them one night. Apparently, they had laced the wine and cakes with cyanide. I had some of their prepared food, but the poison had no effect. Why it did not I have no idea but when the men found that I was still alive they finally resulted to shooting me in my chest and beating me repeatedly with a bat. I remember struggling to get up after being shot in the chest, no doubt having one of my lungs punctured. I struggled to get out of the house and stumble towards the gate, but the men fired their guns again, and this time one of my legs was hit and I went unconscious. Before I knew it I was thrown into the frozen river. I had hit a solid sheet of ice, which had then cracked under my dead weight, and I sank into the deep, freezing cold river. I fought to get out of my bindings, not wanting to die yet for I still had a purpose in life, to serve others. The cold water slowed the blood from leaking out of my wounds, but I had lost a lot of blood already. My movements slowed as I fought the ropes, my lungs filled with warm blood and freezing water. I could not draw another breath, my body stressed beyond its limit. Death was near, and it was eminent. As my vision faded to darkness, I said one final prayer and used the last of my strength to form the blessed cross before me. I am man, and therefore I have sinned.

So here I am now, a spirit still under Gods command. I recount my past hardships and question this huge hatred towards me that had inevitably led to my death. Was this fate? To lead a hard life and to end it despairingly so? I'm still here, if not in body but by spirit. I will eventually find the answers to my questions and the truth to my existence.

References:

Barham, Patte, Maria Rasputin. _Rasputin: The Man Behind the Myth_. 1977. Prentice-Hall, New Jersey.

Minney, R.J. _Rasputin_. 1973. David McKay Company, New York.


End file.
